Back Where it Started
by Simpa007
Summary: Addie finds herself back in the Asylum, with little hope or care remaining within her. With boredom filling her days, she takes the time to remember back, to when things were better. That is, until what she believed wouldn't happen, does- She finds herself in the company of the Doctor again, and it's a bittersweet moment to say the least.
1. Chapter 1

**Back Where it Started.**

**AN: Yeah, it's a working title… This is the next in the series of Addie and The Doctor stuff. The first three instalments are on my page—It may help to read those if you've just popped in. Thank-you, if you have, by the way. Bordering Insanity is in need of a re-write, it's not the best, but I will get 'round to it at some point.**

**I'd love to see if anyone has come over from my other stories. Feel free to let me know and tell me what you think of this. Thanks. 3**

I sit silent with my legs crossed, much like any other day spent here. My hands rest on my knees and I stare at the wall, where an empty bookshelf hangs, much like any other day spent here. I blink slowly, as if praying that doing so will take up more time and make the day go quicker, much like any other day spent here.

Much like every day, I hate it. Much like every day, I wish for it to end. I need it to end. And end soon.

If I wasn't insane before being dragged back here, then I most certainly am now.

Everything is as I remember it; everything has that empty, cold touch. The air feels thin, difficult to digest, as it were. The floor is the same dirty grey as it has always been, matching the grubby wall superbly. My metal framed bed is in the same position, opposite a small chest of drawers with a mirror above them. There is one thing different, however. A small rug, violet in colour, clashes horribly with the rest of the room. It's near the bookshelf and the tatty wooden seat in the corner. I scoff quietly at the thought of them trying to make the situation more comfortable for me. It is a lost cause, they have failed. I still despise it.

My gaze falls now, toward my lower arm, the one with the letters carved to form one of the most terrifying words I think I've encountered. Master. Just seeing it now, the poorly healed, dark red wound- it makes me shiver. I run my thumb over the final letter, my breath coming quicker.

_I fold my arms across my chest, trying desperately to keep my chin high and my gaze locked on his. Lucy has gone, she'd left a few minutes back and, until now, The Master and I had simply sat in silence. I move away from him, backing away toward the other side of the room. I hate being near him. I hate his very presence, his very existence._

"_You said," I swallow, for a moment unsure of as to how to continue, "You said that you would kill them all."_

_I look away, and from the corner of my eye, he sits straight, perking up at my words. I look to the floor and my messy converse._

"_Bill?"_

_He smiles now._

"_Everyone."_

"_Amelie?"_

_A chuckle leaves his lips and he stands, a wolfish grin plastered on his despicable face. He steps closer._

"_Everyone."_

_My demeanour falls, and I look up, tears in my eyes, only to see that he has gotten closer still. His face is now merely inches from my. My voice wavers—_

"_Adele?"_

_He leans in, virtually pinning me to the wall._

"_Everyone."_

I bring my gaze back up, pulling my sleeve down and gripping it in my hand. The guilt of that moment has been eating me up since that awful day. I can't help but think back to that little village, with its quaint cottages, its farm houses. I remember back to the walks I'd take with Rob in the frosty mornings. There were woods nearby, about a ten minute walk over the fields near the pub, we'd take his dog occasionally. It was peaceful then, quiet, calm, even with the occasional Toclafane drifting about. I liked it. More than my time with the Doctor? No. Of course not.

I scold myself silently. The memories are pointless, Rob isn't there anymore, I won't see him again. Or Amelie, or Adele. I won't see anyone again. I doubt I'll even see the Doctor again—I've been here for some time and nothing has happened. There has been no hint of him finding me, I lost hope a short while back.

The Master seems to be the only subject that my mind wishes to stick to. He is everywhere—the wound on my arm doesn't heal, the writing on my walls never truly came off. God only knows what I wrote it in; something stronger than a permanent marker, surely. But, yes, it's just him—his face, his laugh, his words—only him. And it hurts, it truly, really does. If the drums aren't running through my head, then he is. It just shows my weakness, I can tell that I'm not as strong minded as I used to be. Did he break me during that year? I think he did.

Damn everything.

Damn him.

Damn me.

**AN: So, sort of a prologue, I think. But, alas, I am slowly gaining my muse back for writing. Though, I'm afraid my updates may remain slow—first year of A-levels are already ridiculously stressful. I will try though.**

**Reviews and such are always welcome.**

**Thank-you very much for reading.**

**Ciao!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Back Where it Started**

**AN: A quick thank-you to ****Nicoleisawesmazing**** for reviewing, and to all those who have reviewed the previous stories since this one has been started—you're all wonderful.**

Chapter One

_It's cold when we step out of the TARDIS on, what seems to be, quite a fresh but Misty morning. Twigs and dried leaves crack underfoot as The Doctor whirls around in a fashion only he could. I turn my gaze upward, the trees around us are huge; with thin trunks they seem to grow forever until they finally have any form of foliage on them. The mist isn't just up in the air either, it's around us, swarming at our feet, flicking tendrils at our faces, but it's not unpleasant, in fact, it's quite the opposite—it's rather pretty._

"_So…" I sigh, content in that moment, "Where are we?"_

"_No Idea!" Comes his reply, "Let's go find out, aye?"_

_I zip my jacket further up my torso and adjust the tattered gloves on my hands with a nod. I'd given up tying my hair back a short while, for we always end up knee-deep in some mischief that means it become untied, and so, I simply tuck my mess of curls into my collar, and walk about a step or two behind him. The path is rather narrow, and a little difficult to walk it seems._

**{::}::{::}::{::}**

"Adelaide? Come in."

Slowly, as if unsure, I pull the door handle down –it makes a creaking sound, one that I wince at- and open the door. The office is the same; deep brown wooden flooring, a desk sat by the window made of oak, the same two deep-coloured plush chairs sat opposite each other. There is something new, however—with this new Doctor apparently comes pictures, art, drawings, all framed on the walls of the office. They aren't professional, either, but look as though children have done them. Young children at that. In fact, the entire room has a different feel to it than when I last stood on this threshold. I'd even go as far to say that it felt friendly.

The sun shines through the window and casts a glow about the place, the floor doesn't look as dark as I remember it now, and the chairs are actually a deep red colour, not dull brown as I'd thought. But they hadn't been changed, no. The curtains had simply been opened; something Doctor Mayhew was never keen on doing, apparently.

"Take a seat."

His voice interrupts my thoughts and, after a moment of fumbling, I do so, sitting in the left chair. It seems that you get a good view of the road from this vantage point, and the few people that are wandering it this Morning.

"Is that a Market?" I ask without realising that I've even opened my mouth, "They're setting up a Market?"

"Yes, Adelaide." He quirks a brow, "They do it almost every Saturday?"

"I've never noticed."

**{::}::{::}::{::}**

_After about ten minutes worth of walking, we can hear something. They are footsteps, heavy ones too, and there's more than one set of them, three I'd say, at least. They are getting closer, quickly. And then it erupts, the sound of laughter. Children. I turn around just in time to seen they're heading our way, running with wooden swords. There are four of them, each with a sword, the girls with little bonnets on their heads. I pretty much have to leap into the undergrowth to avoid being trampled, whilst The Doctor presses his back against a tree. One of the younger ones stops, just in front of me, pulls something out of his pocket. It's an apple. I take it with a small smile._

"_Thank-you."_

_The child runs on by, catching up with his friends, and I turn to The shrugs before taking a step forward, back onto the path._

"_Hear that?"_

_I too come back to the small path. There is music coming from somewhere, not recorded, but live. It's rather jolly too, perhaps string instruments? Yes, I think so. It kind of adds eeriness to whole situation—what with the thick mist, the tall, skeleton-like trees, and now music flowing through the air, there is no true way to tell of as to just which way it is coming from either. The whole thing sends a quick shiver up my spine._

_The two of us have been stood in silence, simply listening for a moment or two, before The Doctor perks up—_

"_This way!"_

_**{::}::{::}::{::}**_

"Do you often daydream, Adelaide?"

I blink. How long have I been silent? Has he been asking me questions? Has he told me his name? Did I fall asleep? For Goodness sake, Addie, get a grip.

I clear my throat, "Sorry. And occasionally, yes." I decide that perhaps being honest with him will get me further, "But, they aren't dreams, Doctor." I frown then, wrinkling my nose slightly, "They aren't dreams, they're memories."

"Memories?" He writes something down.

"Yes. I assume you've read my file?"

"It_ is_ my job."

"Right. Yes. Of course. Sorry." I inwardly wince at my own stupidity. He seems like a nice guy, though, he's not glaring, no, he simply looks content, like he's listening. "People think they're hallucinations, but they're not, you see? In fact, had Doctor Mayhew _actually_ spoken the truth for once in her life, The Doctor would be in my file. She saw him, only once, mind, but she saw him. I think she threatened him. But then, It's Doctor Mayhew, she never really spoke the truth at al—"

He clears his throat, and I wring my hands in my lap.

"Sorry. Inappropriate." I lick my lower lip, and sigh, "You have questions?"

"I do."

"Fire away."

He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, only showing me the seriousness of the situation and worrying me slightly.

"What do you remember about your Mama, Adelaide?"

"Mama…?" I falter, leaning back a little.

"Yes."

"Well…" The nerves hit me now, and I blink quickly. What _can_ I remember of Mama? Anything? Perhaps… "She used to smile a lot?" I offer, her nods, though evidently expects more, "I don't think I ever saw her cry, actually, during the short time I spent with her, of course." My tone becomes bitter, "Which is odd, actually. How could she seem so cheerful and loving, when she is the kind of person who throws away her daughter at the drop of a hat?"

"Remember, Adelaide. What do you remember?"

"Oh…, I think I get my hair from her, the curls, I mean, not the colour—she was blonde, I think."

"Good."

"Is this necessary, Doctor?"

"Please." He replies, "Is there anymore? An outing that you remember, perhaps?"

I bite the inside of my cheek, screwing my face up slightly with a frown and a furrowed brow.

"There… there was a beach…" Why is he making me doing this? What's the point? "It was sandy, and little, more of a small cove really, I suppose."

"Good. That's all?"

"That's all."

**{::}::{::}::{::}**

_It hasn't taken long for us to find where the music came from; we just continued down the same path for another five minutes, and now, here we are. It's a Market, a festival almost, and it's beautiful. Ladies in patterned skirts, with bells around their necks, wrists and ankles, the men wear battered type hats, they look like berets, almost. Double breasted waistcoats seem to be popular, also, with even some of the youngest boys wearing them, looking strangely smart with bare feet and plaited long hair. The girls are pretty, too; striped dresses with belts covered in small bells, tinkling away with flowers in their hair._

"_Wow…"_

_The place is huge, too, it must be the only clearing in the large forest able to accommodate the vast amount of tents and stalls. There's food being sold, pastries, meat, fabrics, everything you could think of. There's a toy stand a few meters away. Or I guess it's a toy stand, children have flocked from all over to crowd around it. There's a string hanging above it, like a small tightrope, a toy monkey walks across it, clapping two symbols together. I'm fairly sure that my mouth has been agape for a while, for The Doctor's hand suddenly pushes my chin up, shutting it for me._

"_Oh." It's the only sound I can really manage at the moment._

"_Yes. Some sort of Winter Fair, I'd guess. Love a fair."_

"_Remarkable."_

**{::}::{::}::{::}**

"This… Doctor—what's he like?"

"Stupid." Comes my, rather quick answer, "But also rather… cool, I suppose. Yes, cool."

I sound far away, like my mind's not all there. I still have my sights set on the Market being set up in the street outside.

"Every Saturday, you say?"

"Yes."

"Oh."

He clears his throat, it seems to be what he does to grab my attention. I turn back to him.

"Your Nightmares—" He begins.

"Memories." I counter stubbornly.

"_Nightmares._ They are to do with a noise, and a Man, yes?"

"Putting it simply, yes. A noise and a Man."

"You no longer dream of…" He pulls a written file off his desk, mine, and flicks open the first few pages, "Granite Bridges—a completely different world?"

"Not as much, Doctor, no."

"So, your Nightmares have changed?"

I shrug, "I suppose so."

He makes to open his mouth and I interrupt him—

"Those drawings on your wall—past patients?"

"Yes."

I swallow, "Did you help them, Doctor? Did you make them better? What if they didn't need to be better?"

"They all need to be better, Adelaide. But, yes, many of them –not all, though, remember that- are better now."

"I don't need to be better, Doctor, _I don't_."

It takes a matter of minutes before I am back in my room, sitting on my bed, a lump rising quickly in my throat. It's silent, just as it always is.


End file.
